iAm Sam
by TheBeautifulChaos
Summary: Sam knows she's her own person, but can't help comparing herself to Carly, the girl everyone adores. But does everyone really love JUST Carly?


**My first fan fic...let's see how it goes. The first part is a little bit of what I'm going through, so I had to vent somehow.  
Oh, for the record, I didn't mean to make Sam sound depressed, like she's being suicidal or something. It's more like...she knows that she's her own person but she feels like she has to compete with Carly. Ah well...and you know the drill, I don't own iCarly, yadda yadda...**

* * *

I hate Carly Shay.

Ok, so that's not entirely true. But there are times when I hate being her best friend.

Carly Shay…Carly Shay…brown hair, brown eyes, killer smile, girly, flirty, cute, lovable, straight-A student, and popular with everyone…including the boys…

For as long as I've been friends with Carly, she's always been the more popular one. She could sweet-talk her way out of any situation. She was sassy, in a cute sort of way. Everyone loved her and wanted her and wanted to be around her.

And then there was me…I was the wild, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, tom-boy, loud-mouthed, meat-loving, toughest girl at Ridgeway. But, believe it or not, I have feelings too. It kills me every time Carly comes home with a new boy. It's not because I've never had a boyfriend…it's because even with those boyfriends I've never had one ever love me for…Sam.

Sometimes it feels so hopeless that I want to leave. I want to get out of Seattle and start over. Get a new name. Make a new image. But I know that I can't. She'll come looking for me. When she finds me, she'll fling herself into my arms and cry and cry and cry. She'll wipe her eyes (the brown ones that everyone seems to be captivated by) and tell me how much it hurt while I was gone and why on earth did I leave? And I'll have to be the strong one and hold her and promise her that I'll never leave when I actually want to be one the one crying, hurting, wanting what she has but knowing that it's impossible because I'm…Sam.

So I just put on my happy face and pretend it doesn't bother me, and you know what? Most of the time it doesn't…when I don't think about it. But when I round the corner and see the gaggle of guys surrounding Carly, I break just a little bit more as I push through the crowd to get a few moments of peace when I reach into my locker to get whatever I came for. Carly calls to me through her crowd of admirers and I smile and wave and punch Freddie in the arm as I start walking away just in case I do break this time. As I walk down an empty hallway, I breathe a broken sigh of relief that I kept it together. They say you can't lie forever, that the truth will eventually come out, but it won't. I won't let it. I will put on my happy face and pretend to be happy for Carly and only cry alone in my room under the covers because I'm…Sam.

* * *

I've never told anyone this, but I think I love Freddie Benson. I don't know when it happened or why it happened but I can't tell myself that I hate him anymore. There's just something about him, you know? It's more than his brown eyes that change color depending on what he's wearing (you wouldn't think brown eyes could change color, but they do) or his smile that shows off that one crooked tooth or the laugh that makes you laugh too even if the joke sucks. It's the fact that he's…that's he's there. I mean, I've been beating on Freddie ever since we became friends, you know, when we were about six years old. And even though I punch him and insult him on a daily basis, he never gets really mad. Sure, he yells as if he was mad, but I know he's really not. And I never realized how much I appreciate that he's still here, even though I know that it can't happen between us. For one, Freddie hates my guts. Well ok, maybe not hates, more like…tolerates. And two, he loves Carly. Surprise, surprise. I just wish that one day, maybe, he could take off his little compare-everyone-to-Carly glasses and see me as I am…as Sam.

* * *

Days and weeks and months go by and I'm playing my role as the smiling and supportive best friend while everything inside me screams at Carly, asking why. Why is she so perfect and so loved and so wanted and so beautiful? Why was I so broken and misunderstood and hurt and unwanted?

Why was I so…Sam?

* * *

Spencer was surprised when I showed up early for the iCarly rehearsal. I told him that I was doing it so Carly would stop scolding me, which was a big fat lie. Carly knows that I'll be there, even if I'm not right on time. I haven't let her down yet. So I got to the iCarly studio an hour (you hear me? An hour.) before Carly gets home from wherever she is and two hours (there MUST be something wrong with me) before rehearsal is supposed to actually start. I flop down, belly first, onto one of the bean bags, turn up my PearPod, and begin to write in the notebook I brought with me. I love to write. As I take my black pen out of my pocket and place the tip on the white-lined piece of paper, there is a moment of hesitance, as if I'm not sure what to do next. But in a flash of ink and pent-up emotion, my pen is flying across the paper. Line after line I fill up with my thoughts about Carly, about me, about…

"Sam?"

Freddie.

My black pen went flying and the notebook got shoved under the bean bag. When I turned around, Freddie's head was tilted to the side, watching my spaz attack curiously.

"What were you doing?"

I blushed deeply and went to go and retrieve my pen from the cobwebbed corner where I'd flung it.

"I was just writing…I had some ideas floating in my head and I wanted to write them down." Half truth. Which also meant: half lie.

Freddie grabs a beanbag chair and sits down next to me. "I didn't know that you wrote. Can I see some of it?"

I pause, not sure if I should. But I figure, what the heck. Besides, I'll be sitting right here and I won't let him see anything super personal. I pull the notebook out from under the bean bag, smooth the wrinkled pages, and flip to the front. It's mostly just random story bits that pop into my head and I write them down hoping to use them. As Freddie reads, I lay back on the chair and zone out a little bit, letting the two hours before rehearsal start to tick lazily away.

"Sam?"

My spacing is interrupted by Freddie's voice. But it doesn't sound right. Something is wrong. I look over and he's holding my notebook and I realize he's on the last page, the page that I had tried to hide when he walked in. My mouth dropped open and my face heated up as I fumbled for words, looking for anything to defend myself.

"I just- whatever you do, you can't tell Carly, ok? It's just my thoughts and you really shouldn't have read them but I just-"

"Why?"

I couldn't stop the one tear, two, five, ten, as they flowed down my face. "I don't know why Freddie. That's such a stupid question."

He gave a half-hearted chuckle and used his hand to wipe my tears. "You're right, it was a stupid question. I guess what I actually meant was, how could you think these things about yourself?"

Irritated now with him asking questions I couldn't answer, I opened my mouth to give him a rude answer when he continued, "I just don't understand why you compare yourself to her. She's Carly and you're…Sam. But that's why you can't do this to yourself. You're beautiful, Sam. I don't know why you think you have to measure against Carly, because I- well, I'm not looking for Carly. I'm looking for Sam."

"Save it Benson," I replied, making a lame attempt to wipe the tears from my face. "Every person on the face of the planet, including you, knows that Carly was always the princess, not me."

He looked like I had punched him in the stomach. Before I could completely register what had happened or what I was doing, I had grabbed his face and kissed him in a last-ditch attempt. All of the questions I asked with my kiss were answered with his, and it was better than anything he could have told me with words. When we broke apart, I scooted onto his beanbag chair and nestled into the crook of his arm. It was a perfect fit, as if only I were meant to be there.

"I don't call her Princess Shay. But I do call you Princess Puckett."

I looked into his face, feeling the warm glow of love and promise for the first time in…well, in a long time. "Because I'm Sam?"

He chuckled and kissed my forehead. "Because you're Sam."

* * *

**So there is my first attempt...hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are welcome, bashing is not. :) **


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